The morning sunlight spilled through Bluebell Bakes like honey, slipping over the pastel walls and warming the small café in a soft, golden glow. Dust motes floated lazily in the light, catching on the edges of counter corners and display cases. The scent of freshly baked butter croissants drifted through the air, warm and comforting, but even that familiar aroma could not chase away the hollowness tugging at Elin's chest.
She stood behind the counter, chin propped on one hand, the other absentmindedly straightening napkins that had already been perfectly aligned. Her usual spark felt muted, and her movements carried a subtle heaviness she could not shake.
The night before, she'd spent hours messaging Axton, planning, picturing, and beaming at the prospect of a spontaneous break to Universal Studios. It was a brief respite, a day to breathe and laugh without the weight of the city weighing down on them, to be simply Axton and Elin, with no duties, pressures, or schedules. She had poured her passion into every word, sprinkled her letters with amusing emoticons, and even included a few miniature doodles of their ideal schedule.
Her phone buzzed early this morning, pulling her from the gentle rhythm of baking and tidying. She picked it up, expecting a cheerful confirmation or teasing comment.
Instead, it was his reply.
Axton: I can't make it today. I'm sorry, love. Things are... complicated at work. I'll make it up to you, I promise.
Her fingers froze over the screen, hovering as if the device itself had suddenly gained weight. Her heart sank in the quiet way that made it ache in her chest rather than pound in anger. She felt the disappointment coil around her like a cold ribbon, twisting tightly, almost impossibly.
She typed a reply, hesitated, and then sent a short, measured line.
Elin: It's okay. Take care of yourself.
Now, as she absently wiped the counter, the motion felt automatic, a quiet rhythm she used to anchor herself. Her mind, however, refused to stay still. It kept circling back to the text she had received from Axton.
She believed him, of course she did. She always did. His words carried weight, warmth, and the certainty that he would keep his promises. But even as she clung to that thought, the ache of disappointment remained, stubborn and dull, curling in her chest like a shadow she could not brush away.
The bell above the door chimed softly, its delicate tinkle cutting through the quiet hum of the bakery. Her head lifted instinctively, the motion betraying a faint hope she barely admitted to herself. Perhaps it was him.
Maybe Axton had decided to surprise her, to appear as if the morning's disappointment had never existed.
It wasn't him.
Sebastian stood in the doorway instead. His presence seemed almost out of place, a stark contrast to the cozy pastel warmth of Bluebell Bakes. He wore a crisp cream shirt, dark tailored slacks, and polished shoes that reflected the light from the windows. The edges of his hair were slightly mussed, as if he had run a hand through it in passing, but his smile was precise and measured, perfectly in control. His gaze swept over the bakery with casual interest, and then it landed on her.
He took a slow step forward, the faintest tilt of his head, his expression open but carefully calculated. "Rough morning?" he asked, his voice smooth, soft, almost disarming.
Her chest tightened. A mix of irritation and disbelief flickered across her features. She straightened instinctively, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear, and tried to regain the composure she used with difficult customers.
"Sebastian. What are you doing here?"
"Buying coffee," he said easily, but his gaze lingered on her face, scanning the faint shadows beneath her eyes, the subtle tension in her jaw, the forced smile that didn't quite reach them. "And maybe checking in on someone who looks like she hasn't smiled properly all day."
Elin stiffened, her fingers gripping the edge of the towel in her hands. "I'm fine," she said quickly, her voice a little sharper than she intended. She twisted the cloth between her palms, pretending to smooth it over the counter, the motion almost frantic. "Just... tired."
He leaned casually against the counter, arms crossed, but there was a careful ease in his posture, as if he belonged here even when he clearly did not. "Tired, or disappointed?"
Her breath hitched, just slightly. Her heart felt too aware of the question, a sudden flutter she could not quite control. "Excuse me?" she asked, forcing a blink and turning her gaze toward the glass display, trying to anchor herself in the trays of croissants and tarts.
"Forgive me," he said, lifting one hand in mock surrender. The other rested lightly against the edge of the counter, close enough to be intimate but not imposing. "I didn't mean to pry. But you wear your heart on your sleeve, Elin. It's quite obvious when something's bothering you."
She swallowed, forcing a small laugh that sounded hollow to her own ears. "You're imagining things." Her voice wavered, betraying her more than she wanted.
"Maybe," he said, and his tone softened, a little lower now, deliberate and smooth, like velvet brushing across skin. "Or maybe I'm just observant."
"Coffee, right?" she asked, the words coming out faster than she intended, a lifeline to focus on something simple, something ordinary.
"Whatever you recommend," he said, the corners of his mouth lifting in a faint, self-assured smile.
She nodded, grateful for the small excuse to turn away. She reached for the espresso machine, the familiar hiss of steam filling the air as she began preparing his drink. The smell of warm coffee mixed with the sweet tang of buttered pastries, a comforting backdrop to the sudden tightness in her chest. She concentrated on measuring the grounds, tamping them just so, letting her hands move with practiced precision.
But even as she worked, Sebastian's words echoed in her mind.
Disappointed.
Her heart sank slightly. She hated that he wasn't wrong. She had been counting on Axton today, imagining the laughter, the ease, the rare moments when the city outside could disappear and it could be just the two of them. She had tried to mask it, to convince herself that work mattered, that it was nothing. But the disappointment was real, bitter and insistent.
When she handed him the cup, their fingers brushed for a fraction of a second. The contact was brief, almost accidental, but enough to send a faint jolt up her arm. She kept her gaze fixed on the counter, though she felt the warmth lingering longer than it should have.
His smile was faint, knowing, and just a little teasing, the kind that suggested he understood more than he let on. "Thank you," he said quietly.
"You're welcome," she replied, her voice steady, though her chest felt slightly too tight.
He lifted the cup, taking a careful sip as if savouring it slowly, appreciating the effort she had put into it. When he set it down, he tilted his head, his dark eyes studying her with an unsettling attentiveness. "You know," he said slowly, letting each word hang between them, "you should go to Universal Studios anyway."
Elin blinked, startled, her hand pausing mid-motion as she reached for a tray of croissants. "What? How did you know?" Her voice betrayed a hint of incredulity, and the faintest spark of irritation flickered in her chest.
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he let the moment stretch, watching her carefully, a subtle smile tugging at the corners of his lips, amusement dancing in his gaze. The warmth in his eyes made it impossible to ignore him, though she tried.
Finally, he spoke. "Why not?" The question was casual, deceptively simple, but the way he said it carried a weight she couldn't quite place. "A day off won't end the world. Besides, you deserve some fun, don't you?"
Elin's fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the counter. Her mind whirled. He didn't need to know about the text from Axton. He didn't need to understand the disappointment she felt, the tiny ache that had lingered since the morning. And yet here he was, intruding in the quiet of the bakery with words that made her pulse quicken and her chest feel lighter and heavier at the same time.
"I was supposed to go with someone," she admitted quietly. The words slipped out before she could stop them, as if the warmth of the moment had loosened something inside her. Her voice was soft, careful, like she was confessing a secret to the air instead of to him.
Sebastian's gaze lingered on her face, steady and unreadable. "Ah," he said after a beat, his tone calm, almost knowing. "The ever-busy Axton Creighton."
Her fingers curled around the edge of the counter. The mention of Axton's name felt heavier than it should have, like a stone settling in her chest. "He's doing his best," she replied quickly, almost defensively. Her voice carried more force than she intended, as if she needed to convince herself of it as much as she needed to convince Sebastian.
Sebastian smiled faintly, the curve of his lips neither mocking nor kind — something in between. "Of course he is," he said softly, swirling the coffee in his cup with slow precision. "He's a man who lives for his work. That's what makes him powerful. But sometimes power demands sacrifices, doesn't it?"
His words were quiet but sharp, slipping beneath her guard like a knife disguised as silk.
Elin's head lifted, her eyes narrowing just slightly. "You talk like you know him well."
"I do." His tone was calm, certain, and it carried a weight that made her pause. He didn't sound like someone boasting about connections, but rather he sounded like someone who had seen Axton's world up close and hadn't been impressed by it. "We've crossed paths more than once," he continued, his gaze fixed on her now, unflinching. "Same circles, different philosophies."
She hesitated, torn between curiosity and caution. "And what's yours?" she asked before she could stop herself.
Sebastian leaned his elbows lightly on the counter, the distance between them shrinking just a little. His voice, when it came, was low and deliberate. "Mine?" He tilted his head. "I believe in choosing what makes you feel alive, even if it costs you something. Especially if it does."
Her breath caught slightly at the intensity in his tone. There was something about the way he said it that felt dangerously personal, like he wasn't just talking about ambition or philosophy anymore. Like he was talking about her.
Elin glanced away, suddenly aware of how close he was, of how the space between them seemed to hum quietly. "That sounds reckless," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
Sebastian smiled again, but this time it reached his eyes. "Maybe," he said softly. "But I'd rather be reckless than hollow."
The words lingered in the air like steam from the espresso machine, warm and lingering.
Elin turned back to him, searching his expression, but it was unreadable.
She wanted to ask what he meant, why he cared enough to say it, but something in his gaze stopped her. It wasn't pity. It wasn't judgment. It was understanding, the kind that made her feel seen in a way that unsettled her.
She busied herself with the pastries again, pretending to inspect a tray that didn't need inspecting. "You talk like someone who doesn't lose sleep over consequences," she said finally, forcing a lightness into her voice.
"On the contrary," he replied, his tone gentler now. "I just prefer to live with the ones I choose."
Elin didn't know how to reply to that.
Sebastian took another sip of his coffee, eyes still on her. "For what it's worth," he said after a moment, his voice softer, almost kind, "I think Axton's a fool if he'd rather stare at spreadsheets than see you smile."
Elin froze, caught off guard by the bluntness. The compliment — or was it a provocation? — slipped under her skin before she could deflect it. She looked at him then, really looked, and saw no trace of insincerity in his expression. Just calm certainty and a faint spark of something more complicated.
Her heart gave a small, traitorous flutter.
She turned away again, forcing a small, composed smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "You're very good at saying things people shouldn't say," she murmured.
Sebastian's lips curved slightly as he set the cup down. "Only when they need to be heard."
Elin exhaled slowly, rolling her eyes.
Sebastian set his cup down and straightened, his tone deceptively casual. "You know," he began, brushing an invisible speck of dust from his cuff, "you really should go to Universal Studios today."
She blinked, caught off guard by the return of that suggestion. "What?"
"You wanted to go," he said simply. "Why wait? The day's still young."
"I can't just go alone," she said, more defensively than she intended.
Sebastian tilted his head. "Who said you have to?"
Elin blinked. "You?"
His eyes lifted to meet hers, calm but intent. "Why not? You could use a day off, and I could use an excuse to stop thinking about profit margins for once."
Her brows knit together. "That's ridiculous."
He chuckled quietly. "Maybe. But ridiculous things are often the most memorable."
She turned away, pretending to fix a tray of macarons. The pinks and creams blurred before her eyes. "I barely know you."
"That's the best part," he said, voice softer now. "No expectations. No pretences. Just two people with a day to spare."
Elin's fingers fidgeted with the edge of the towel. Her heart was beating too fast, and she hated that he could probably tell. "Why would you even want to go with me?"
Sebastian leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the counter. "Because you intrigue me."
The words made her still. There was no smirk this time, no teasing glint — just calm certainty. It wasn't flattery; it was a statement.
"I'm not trying to intrigue anyone," she said, forcing a lightness into her voice.
He smiled faintly. "That's what makes you different."
Her throat tightened. She wanted to laugh it off, but the sincerity in his gaze made that impossible. His attention felt too focused, too deliberate, like sunlight through glass.
He didn't look away. "You shouldn't let disappointment cage you, Elin. Sometimes, people forget that happiness isn't something you wait for. It's something you choose."
She swallowed hard. "You sound like you're trying to sell me a philosophy."
"Maybe I am," he said easily. "Or maybe I'm just inviting you to remember how to breathe."
Her heart stumbled again, confusion and unease tangling inside her. "Axton wouldn't like that," she murmured, almost to herself.
Sebastian's tone softened, but his eyes sharpened. "Axton doesn't decide what you're allowed to enjoy."
Elin's gaze shot up, a flicker of something defensive sparking in her chest. "That's not fair. He's just—"
"Busy," Sebastian finished for her. "Always busy."
She looked at him, really looked, and for a moment she saw what made him dangerous. He wasn't angry. He didn't even sound judgmental. He was just... observant. Too much so.
Her voice came out quieter than she intended. "You shouldn't talk about him like that."
He studied her face, eyes flicking over the faint crease of worry between her brows. "You love him," he said simply. "That's obvious. But love shouldn't always feel like waiting."
Elin's chest tightened. She wanted to tell him to stop, to remind him that he was crossing a line — but her voice didn't come. Because deep down, buried under loyalty and reason, his words struck something she didn't want to acknowledge.
Sebastian noticed. He didn't press, but his expression shifted into satisfaction flickering briefly before settling into something unreadable.
Then, in a tone so casual it almost disarmed her, he said, "I'll drive."
She blinked. "What?"
"To Universal," he said. "If you change your mind."